


time to say goodbye

by behzaintfunny



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, Gigi loves everyone, Gigi's final game for Juventus, Juventus Turin, M/M, Men Crying, and everyone loves Gigi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 00:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behzaintfunny/pseuds/behzaintfunny
Summary: Sometimes, letting go is the hardest part.





	time to say goodbye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selenedaydreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenedaydreams/gifts), [brampersandon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brampersandon/gifts).



> Now also available in Russian here! just copy the link and it'll get you there  
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/7053141

"Did you ever feel so happy you wished you could cry forever?"

Iker's sudden question momentarily takes him aback. Not only had he thought he was already long asleep, but it's not quite in Iker's nature to be asking exaggerated existential questions as though he was asking whether he likes his tea sweet or not.

This Iker, this ridiculously affectionate and melancholic display placed on his bed, is someone he doesn't get to experience and explore often. It's usually the other way around. Iker has cried his fair share of tears over World Cup titles and Champions League trophies to spare some for such primitive things like love. Tears shall be shed during those dazed moments high on adrenaline. The world could bear not seeing him get overly emotional over life, love or dreams.

A year into retirement, Gigi can freely say the same.

Iker was brushing his fingers against his side, entranced, not quite convinced whether his partner was awake or not. He left scarce kisses on the back of his neck, exploring the exposed flesh as though he had never been granted access before. He was making his way slowly into his heart, creating a connection fat greater than just love and not nearly as easily explainable.

"I do." Gigi whispers, "I did, once."

***

"Where to now, Gigione?" Claudio mumbles around his cup of coffee, lips hitting the warm porcelain.

It is seemingly the easiest of questions, one he could brush off without further persuasions, yet it brings overwhelming unease in his stomach. He could say whatever he wishes in any other case but not to Claudio.

He could, technically, but he wouldn't.

"Home." Gigi replies quietly, "I'd like to go home and rest."

Claudio hums. He leans his face against his hand like he's contemplating something. Gigi has never mastered the act of reading his deep oceanic blues. Claudio himself was a book ready to be opened but his eyes hid the things he wasn't ready to share with the world.

Gigi sips on his black coffee. In the back of his mind, he knows he is going to miss this. The routine.

Them.

***

"You should come to Milan." Leo says to him, pressed against the hard mattress and a perfect picture of content.

It almost makes Gigi want to pull out.

Almost.

"You know I can't do that." he instead replies, brushing his fingers against the hollow of his collarbone. It causes a whimper to involuntarily slip out of Leo's lips and he says nothing more.

Leonardo has always felt and looked like he belongs there, underneath Gigi's own torso. He'd never admit it aloud but not all things have to be spoken to be true. Leo's the anchor that connects Gigi to earth, however ironic it may be. His anchor, the one person he could rely on -- the prodigal son to his God.

The shudder and gasp that overcomes Leo as he comes almost makes him want to reconsider.

_Almost._

***

He hadn't thought he'd had to let go of Paulo so soon. A fool's hope, possibly, but he hadn't thought he'd ever want to leave in the first place.

Maybe he wished the future wouldn't catch up with him so early. Maybe he wished he could lead the younger Argentine into his own, glory-filled future. Maybe he wished to hold his hand and tell him it's all going to be okay.

Like with Alessà once, maybe 10 is his weak number.

He doesn't think of Paulo as his weakness. Never has. Never will.

He knows Paulo has brought out the best in him in those little years they were given. All the innocent smiles, all lingering touches, every single look into his eyes made him want to fall in love with him all over again.

"I don't want this to end." Paulo tells him before they walk out together onto the Allianz pitch, one last time.

The most Gigi can do is take him into a tight embrace and put one of his hands on the high of his head.

"This is not the end." Gigi mumbles against his hair, "Change doesn't have to hurt. Not always. It will be different without me, yes, but not necessarily worse."

"Will it hurt?"

Gigi sighs. The memory of the fatal ten on a very certain back haunts his mind.

"It will."

Paulo leaves his arms adorning a gentle smile. Somehow, he is sure this isn't the end of their story.

He will not let it end here.

***

"Will you join me in the States now that it's over?" he hears Andrea ask from all the way in the kitchen.

Normally, he would have always said yes. He would follow Andrea to heaven or hell if that meant he could see his sheepish smile.

Normally.

"I don't know, Andrea." he replies, kicking his legs out on the big leather couch. "Would you want me to?"

He hears a laugh and a clatter of utensils.

There is something disgustingly domestic about the nature of his and Andrea's relationship. It's probably the realest thing he has ever had with anyone. Way back when they were on top of the world, young and careless, he made a secret purchase of a stupidly expensive golden ring. It is to this day stashed somewhere between his socks and his underwear, abandoned and almost entirely forgotten. Gigi wonders if he should attempt to find it.

Andrea emerges out of his kitchen, giddy, a little tipsy and with an embarassingly dirty apron. He practically throws himself on top of Gigi, finding the way to his lips with practised ease. Andrea kisses the exact opposite of how he plays -- overcome by emotion, greedy and brave. Their every kiss feels, in a way, like a first.

Though he can't say this is the first shirt Andrea has ruined with his mother's special marinara sauce.

"No." Andrea whispers against his lips, looking him deep in the eye. "I want you to go home. Teach your kids how to pick proper herbs, build a house, buy local vegetables. You would be wasted here."

Gigi leaves a kiss on Andrea's cheek before he can stop himself. He pulls him into a hug so close it could be considered uncomfortable, seeing the way Andrea's beard scratches his neck and his chin digs into his shoulder.

It's not. It's the single most perfect thing.

"Are you sure?"

Andrea mumbles against his shoulder, "No, I'm not. I'm saying this in hope that maybe, someday, in the future you will have built for yourself and the kids, there will be some space left for me to settle in."

Gigi's free leg presses against the back of Andrea's own. He inhales his musk, the dizzying smell of wine and tomatoes and kisses Andrea's earlobe through his hair.

"Anytime, always."

***

For an hour that feels like an eternity, he smiles. He laughs, he grins, he jumps and makes eye contact with all the fans. He looks as though this is his first game for the club and maybe it is. The one certainity is the smile that never leaves his face. Nothing else really matters. The stadium is wet, not with rain but with tears.

 _Grazie, grazie,_ he says. _Grazie..._ Like a prayer, like he wishes to engrave it in his throat and never stop saying it. _Grazie._ He means it every time.

Barza clings to his side like a magnet. He starts kissing his ear and he just can't bring himself to ever stop. Every kiss feels like a thank you, and every laugh falling from Barza's lips feels like mead to his soul. It's reassuring, like to tell him that everything in the world was going to be okay. He can't stop laughing in Barza's ear like a madman or a man in love, he cannot tell.

Paulo hugs him like his life depends on it. He wishes to show Gigi that he will never let him down, he will lead Juventus to all glory as long as that means he'd be proud of him. And he would.

He would.

He pulls the armband on Claudio's bicep and with the armband, the spirit. It is as though a faucet has been turned on inside Claudio's eyes -- he just can't stop crying. His arms wound around Gigi like a son clinging to his mother. _Don't go_ , he hears, though it was not spoken. This is the hug of that boy whose mother is leaving him on a wide long road, alone. Claudio leaves a field of kisses on the side of Gigi's neck. _Please, don't go._

Gigi lets go, hesitantly, with one last kiss to his cheek. He pretends not to hear the sound of Claudio's heart breaking.

His feet lead him to the locker room. He caresses every single one with reverence. In the solace of his own loneliness, he lets go. His body tremors with the power of his sobs that stain the floor and soak his shoes. One last time, he leaves a piece of himself in this locker room. Teardrop after teardrop, he leaves his soul on the clean, sterile floor.

He comes out of the tunnel again, feeling a slight deja vu, and shakes the hand of every possible Juventus fan he can reach. He looks at their sorrowed faces through the tears and smiles at them. They're not just some fans or some people. He pulls them all in hugs like he has known them for all his life.

Maybe he has...

 _Grazie, grazie, grazie... Raise your heads up, this is not the end of the world._  
_Grazie, grazie... You have led my hand for all these years. Now, allow me to hold yours. It is the least I can do._  
_Grazie. I would have never done this without you._

It soothes his own pain that tears at his heart. It makes him feel better that his tears are just as much theirs. With every shirt and scarf gifted to him, he clutches them close to his heart. _Grazie_. It was all for you, all along. They ruffle his hair and clutch his head in their hands. It's the single most peaceful moment of his entire journey.

He gets his hands on the league cup, one last time. He touches all the crevices of the trophy as though to memorize it in his head for all years to come. He knows it serves no purpose as he is caressing it through the gloves, but it's last on his list of priorities. The cup's heavy, steady weight up in the air, and the black and white confetti that has stuck to it are the one certainity in his life right now. The stadium fills with roars as the chants are sung. Nothing else matters. This is it. This is real. This is goodbye.

If Turin has ever seen this much water, it was before God's creation of land. All there was was salty water and all there is now is salty water. It has come to a full circle.

Alas, it has come to one, final goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is, of course, from Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. I was listening to this while editing and must say it fits painfully well.  
> This is incredibly emotional and was written in snippets all throughout the match, so I apologize for all mistakes. I hope it wasn't that bad.  
> I encourage all comments, be it about my fic or Gigi in general. Tell me why you love him. I'd love to hear your stories.
> 
> Oh! And kudos means the world to me! <3


End file.
